


Warrior to Plow

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gymnastics, House Party, M/M, POV Otabek Altin, Pole Dancing, YOI Secret Santa 2018, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Being at college on a gymnastics scholarship, unfortunately, means that Otabek is at the mercy of his coaches. So when the head coach orders him to sign up for yoga or dance, or else risk losing his spot on the team, Otabek is forced to choose the lesser of two evils.All he wants is to keep his head down and his grades up, but Downward-Facing Dog isn't the way he expected to do it. He's supposed to be avoiding distractions. Unfortunately, a certain distraction from his yoga class seems to be following him.





	Warrior to Plow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allollipoppins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allollipoppins/gifts).



> I've never written this pairing before, so it was fun trying to figure out where to put these two and how their non-skating interests might mesh. Much gratitude to glitterpile for the beta assistance!
> 
>  **Ali!** I enjoyed stealthily meeting you in the Discord server and seeing how enthusiastic you were about the exchange :D That was really fun and encouraging, and I felt a little like a secret spy. I wanted to write the rarepair you had on your list even though I don't usually because that's what gift-giving is all about! I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful holiday season.

“Altin!” Coach Wainwright’s familiar bark echoed off the domed roof of the gym even over the racket of bodies smacking against the floor. “Get off the damn pommel horse and meet me on the mat!”

Shit. Otabek knew where this was heading. Even when he’d first gotten his scholarship, it always came with provisions. He was a strong gymnast, and no one could argue against that, but he hadn’t gotten a single gold since leaving the junior division. If he wanted to keep his scholarship and finish his degree, he still needed to prove he deserved his place on the team. 

Otabek shuffled onto the mat and nodded to the head coach. “Let’s see your split, then,” Wainwright said, not wasting any time. Otabek lowered his head so the coach wouldn’t see his reflexive wince at the word. He wasn’t playing around at all, then.

The twenty minutes that followed felt more like two hours as the coach continued barking out orders, and Otabek scrambled to comply, eyes up and mind focused on form. He could do this. He _had_ to do this.

Finally, Coach Wainwright clapped his hands, and Otabek stumbled to his feet, muscles aching like he’d packed a week of practice into a single day. His face was drenched in sweat, and he pulled at the hem of his shirt to wipe it away before it stung his eyes again. The coach’s mouth was twisted into a grimace.

“Your flexibility is shit,” the man said, not pulling any punches. Otabek stopped breathing. Depending on what came next, this moment could spell the end of both his gymnastics and his academic career. “It’s disappointing, because you’re fucking good at everything else.”

Otabek let his breath out in a rush. Not dead, then. “Thanks, Coach-”

Wainwright raised a hand, cutting him off. “At the start of the new semester, I want you to change your schedule. Add either yoga or dance to whatever it is you’re already doing. You clearly need more stretching work than you’re getting in your usual programs.”

Well, that wasn’t the worst outcome, but it wasn’t good either. Otabek and dance had a history, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. It had been dance that brought him to gymnastics, after all. Desperate to get something out of the beginner classes his parents had enrolled him in as a child, Otabek had run from the constant failure he felt in ballet and tap sessions and sought solace on the tumbling mats. It wasn’t love at first sight, but the slow, reliable type of love that built gradually with time and exposure. Now, over a decade later, Otabek was still a gymnast. Dance could bite him.

“Well,” Coach’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Deal? Or no deal?”

“Deal. I’ll do the yoga.” Coach Wainwright clapped him on the shoulder and nodded, satisfied. It was as clear a dismissal as Otabek was likely to get.

-

He was far from happy about the yoga thing. His advisor had been fine with giving him permission to shift his schedule around at the last minute, but he was limited on the number of credit hours he was allowed to take. In order to sign up for intermediate yoga, he’d had to drop an elective course, and it was Sociology of Popular Music that had ended up on the chopping block. That was a popular class with a long waiting list, and he’d been looking forward to it since the beginning of freshman year. 

It was frustrating, but he couldn’t afford to lose his scholarship. He could only do as the coach ordered and hope that he’d have a second chance at the other class later.

The one advantage to all of this was that the yoga classroom was near the practice gym, so he’d be able to get in extra time on his routines after the class, while he was still limber. That was where his head was mostly at on his first class day, walking into the aggressively air-conditioned building with a rolled black mat slung over his shoulder.

Finding room 203 was easy enough. He could hear the chatter of students all the way down the hall. He had to pause in the doorway to take it all in. 

The yoga room was a ballet studio, with a barre set against a wall of mirrors at the front of the room and smooth wooden floors. It was also, like a ballet studio, full of girls - mostly the lithe, pretty type in matching pink t-shirts with Greek letters emblazoned across the front. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but then he hadn’t really thought about it. 

He kept his head down, locating an empty spot near the back to spread out his mat and set up his water bottle beside it. He was apprehensive and uncomfortable, and the feeling threw him off balance. It might have just been the noise and chaos in the room, or maybe it was the girls. Otabek had never felt uncomfortable being the only man in an activity before - he was a gymnast, after all - but he couldn’t shake the feeling that every eye in the room was on him.

When he looked up from his mat, a lot of heads quickly turned away. Oh. They _were_ looking. 

And so was the boy. Otabek hadn’t noticed him at first at the front of the room, but he didn’t drop his gaze like the others did, being caught. 

Otabek’s first impression was that the man must be a dancer - he was thin, but well-muscled, and built more around the thighs than the shoulders, which showed when the voluminous sweatshirt he had on fell at at angle, flashing a hastily-covered collarbone. His black hair was tousled and a little dorky-looking, but he showed no shame in watching Otabek from across the room, even pushing his thick, blue-framed glasses up his nose to get a better look.

Maybe he was just blind as a bat, though. Once his glasses were back in place, he flushed to the tips of his ears and turned away, refocusing on the front of the room as the instructor stepped forward, clapping her hands to get their attention.

“Good morning,” she said with a serene smile. “Welcome, everyone, to your first day of intermediate yoga. Please take a seat on your mat so we can begin our practice.” 

Otabek settled in to join the opening breathing exercise. If he got nothing else out of this class, at least it would force him into an hour of down time. He wasn’t all that familiar with yoga, but he’d taken a few one-off stretching classes at gyms in the past, so many of the poses were routine, if not the names - Warrior, Sun Salutation, Cobra, and so on.

Despite the work he put in daily for gymnastics, he still struggled to get some of the more challenging poses. Next to the slim girls in sorority tees, he looked like an ungainly beast in the mirror, unable to get his limbs where he wanted them. On top of that, he found himself growing more and more frustrated with himself and the class. Wasn’t yoga meant to be calming?

Each time he looked up to check his positioning in the mirror, he found the other boy staring back at him. The first time it happened, they were in tree pose. Their eyes collided in the reflection, and the boy overbalanced, waving his arms as he put his foot down to catch himself. Although he didn’t look at Otabek when he got back into position, his cheeks were flushed with more than exertion. 

As they moved to dancer pose a few minutes later, the teacher began to circle the room, her gentle hands adjusting a leg here or a back there. When she got to Otabek, she clucked softly at him. “New to yoga?” she asked. He nodded and allowed her to bend and straighten his posture. 

He looked up to the mirror again, trying to see the difference, and once more caught the boy at the front staring. He wobbled. 

The instructor looked up sharply, as if sensing a disturbance across the room. “Yuuri,” she called out. “Are you injured?”

“No.” His answer was almost too quiet to reach them. 

The instructor shook her head, muttering more to herself than Otabek. “What on earth is wrong with him, then?”

It seemed pretty obvious to Otabek, but he wasn’t the sort to mention it. It wouldn’t be acceptable to tell a teacher you just met that the stranger across the room is a gay disaster who’s visibly sweating over your thighs. For one thing, it would sound conceited.

But he wasn’t being conceited, just observant. His thighs were great. He worked hard for them. The attention was appreciated to some extent, but it was a little distracting in class, that was all. They were in college, not middle school. 

When their final resting pose drew to a close, Otabek sat up quickly to pack his things, anticipating the sound of a throat clearing behind him or a cough, a stammered introduction.

It never came. When he looked up, the other boy had his head down, nodding along patiently as one of the blonde girls chatted his ear off.

Well, that was for the best. He was cute, but not exactly Otabek’s type. He’d always been a big fan of confidence and athleticism over anything else. Maybe by the next class, the guy would have gotten over whatever had happened today.

\- 

As the semester dragged on, Otabek settled into a routine, much the same as last year, but with the extra gauntlet of afternoon yoga class. Weeks passed, and the guy at the front of the room was still teetering on the edge of losing his balance every time their eyes met. It was starting to really annoy Otabek, and from the giggles in the room after each incident, he could tell their classmates noticed it as well. 

One Thursday, as he was wiping down his mat, one of the girls bumped the other guy, sending him stumbling over to Otabek’s side. Otabek looked up as he caught himself before he could fall.

“Uh, hi,” the guy breathed, brown eyes wide behind his glasses. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Otabek.” 

“I know.” As soon as the words slipped from Yuuri’s lips, he flushed to the tips of his ears. “I mean, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you at gym meets! My roommate is a cheerleader!” With each proclamation, his voice rose as he scrambled to explain. By the end, he was tomato red, waving his hands as if to push the embarrassment away from himself.

It was pretty endearing, actually.

“Do you go to a lot of the meets?” Otabek asked, keeping his tone mild in an effort to calm things.

Yuuri dropped his hands, relaxing only slightly. “Most of them. Like I said - cheerleader roommate.”

Uh-huh. The cheerleaders were encouraged to attend sporting events, sure, but they weren’t required, and their roommates definitely weren’t. It wasn’t much of an excuse; Yuuri was just a fan. Otabek wasn’t sure if that made the situation more or less tolerable than a simple crush, though. 

Yuuri was still hovering there, next to him, waiting for Otabek to say something else, but what else was there to say? Do you stare at me at meets too? Otabek stood, tucking his rolled mat under his arm. “Well,” he said. “I have to get to practice. See you around, I guess.”

“See you,” Yuuri echoed faintly as Otabek walked away.

-

Otabek didn’t have much of a social life outside of gymnastics, but that was how he liked it. His scholarship depended on his athletic performance, and he couldn’t compete unless he passed his classes. On top of that, his grandmother would murder him if he didn’t take full advantage of his college education. He was here to win medals and get his degree, and he tried to stay out of anything that might distract from those two goals, including clubs, parties, and _dating_. 

But his scholarship didn’t cover the cost of stuff like groceries and flights home, so he still needed income. Luckily, he knew a few of the right people here and there, mostly through his teammates, so he managed to land a couple gigs DJing parties and grungy clubs on a pretty regular basis.

Frat parties were not his favorite, but they did tend to pay better than a lot of the other jobs he took, so when Leroy elbowed him in the middle of practice one day and asked him to DJ Alpha Chi Ro’s annual Spring Break party, it didn’t take much persuading. In fact, he said yes the moment JJ mentioned that he was allowed to set up a tip jar. College students didn’t tip well as a whole, but drunk rich kids often mistook tens for ones.

The party was crowded and rowdy, but behind the DJ booth, Otabek was somewhat insulated from the mess of writhing, sweaty bodies and spilled beer. He used his equipment like a barrier, making sure that chaos kept itself to the other side.

It was only after he’d finished the nearly three hour set he had planned that he could let his guard down a little. He packed up his laptop and had JJ - straight-edge and sober regardless of what anyone meeting him might expect - lock his things up in a safe place until he was ready to head back to his dorm. 

“All set,” JJ declared, tripping down the stairs and dodging sleepy drunks a few minutes later to flash a thumbs up at Otabek. “You actually going to join the party this time?”

Otabek shrugged. “I’ll hang out a minute.” It was just pushing toward midnight, and there were no classes the next day. He didn’t have much of an excuse for being anti-social, especially not after he’d spotted Seung-gil Lee lurking in a corner of the living room earlier. If the surliest gymnast on the team was here, Otabek could loosen up long enough to have one beer.

He left JJ to return to his sober host duties and slowly pushed his way through the packed living room, turning sideways to squirm through the narrow gaps between half-dressed college students, until he found the doorway into the frat house kitchen. 

There was a bit more room to breathe in there, and he was able to easily nab a cheap beer from the fridge, grabbing one from the back so it might actually be cold. He leaned back into the counter in front of the sink, watching the other guests mingle and flirt. One beer, then he’d leave.

He took a swig and fought to keep his face neutral at the sour, watery flavor of it. At least it was cold. The heat of so many people packed into every room of the house had overwhelmed the fans and open windows, turning the building into a sauna of body heat that smelled like a cocktail of spilled booze, body spray, and weed smoke. He might not make it through the whole beer before fleeing.

A girl rushed into the room in a denim skirt that barely covered her assets and grabbed two other women leaning against the wall opposite him. “Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted, dragging at their hands. “Fucking _Yuuri_ is here, bitches.”

The other two girls exchanged a look, then snapped up their red cups from the nearby table and hurried into the next room, giggling with excitement.

 _Yuuri_? It wasn’t exactly a common name here. How many could there be?

But then, why would a bunch of girls be excited to see the dorky guy from his yoga class? Curious, Otabek trailed them into the next room.

What was probably meant to be a dining room was now crowded with students in various states of inebriation. The building had been a frat house for decades, so it was likely that there hadn’t been an actual dinner table in the room in years, but what was less clear was when, exactly, they had installed the stripper pole.

The group closest to the pole had formed a little semicircle of space, and a single person stood in the center of them, leaning against the pole, his head tilted back. Otabek turned to scan the room, searching for Yuuri or the girls from the kitchen, when he heard a hissed “ _Yes_ ” from the group by the pole.

The dancer had turned and was climbing the metal bar with practiced ease, muscle, and the cling of acres of skin, all on display since the guy was wearing nothing but boxer briefs. At the top of the pole, he bent back, hanging upside down using only the thick muscles in his thighs.

It still took Otabek another minute before he even started to put it together. Out of context, with his glasses gone and his black hair pushed back out of his face, Yuuri was like an entirely different person. An entirely different person with _abs_ who was hanging from a pole in his _underwear_.

For a moment, Otabek had to consider if he’d had more to drink than he thought. He glanced down at the nearly full bottle in his hand, double checking to be sure it was still cheap beer and not some sort of bizarre hallucinogen. When he looked back up, Yuuri was still writhing against the stripper pole, stretching one leg straight up over his head. 

It was hard to believe this was the same guy who fell over in class because he got distracted by the mirror, considering that he was now bending like he fucking _bled_ yoga, his gaze sharp and a cocky little smirk tugging at his lips.

Even from across the room, Otabek could see the flush spilling over Yuuri’s features as his hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead and the nape of his neck. It was a punch to the gut. The dorky kid from his yoga class was _hot_ , and - even more intriguing - there was clearly a lot more to him than first impressions would suggest.

As quickly as that hit him, guilt swept over it, washing the attraction away. Sure, Yuuri was choreographing some pretty alarming new fantasies for Otabek on that pole, but he was also very obviously drunk off his ass. The Yuuri from class would never have acted this way, and it seemed pretty likely that he’d be horrified by it all tomorrow.

Maybe Otabek should get him down. 

Yuuri spun around the pole and into a backbend that would make most of the men’s gymnastics team jealous. Upside down, he squinted across the room, looking directly at the spot where Otabek stood. How blind was he without his glasses?

Otabek only had a split second to ponder that question before Yuuri spun around the pole once more, then leapt off it, hurling himself straight at Otabek.

He barely managed to get his arms uncrossed in time to catch him, and then there was entirely too much overheated, soft skin beneath his hands as Yuuri flung his arms around Otabek’s neck, hanging off him. “Heyyyy,” Yuuri slurred into his collarbone. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Uh, likewise.” He took the brunt of Yuuri’s weight around his shoulders, his arms hovering in the air, unsure where would be safe to put his hands without crossing a line. 

“My roommate brought me. He’s nice. He’s so nice. And you’re nice. This party is really, really fun.” Yuuri continued to babble away against Otabek’s chest as the group that had gathered around the pole started to disperse, sensing that the show was over. A few of them shot Otabek dirty looks on their way out, as if he’d deliberately ruined their fun.

Well, he _had_ wanted to get Yuuri off the pole, but now that he had him, Otabek wasn’t sure what to do with him. Where was JJ? Maybe he’d know where Yuuri lived, or where to find his roommate.

“There you are!” A chipper voice sliced through Otabek’s train of thought as another boy appeared from nowhere, hands on his hips and a smile that was wide but sharp - white teeth looking bright against tan skin. “Well, you sure look like you’ve been having a good time.”

He looked at Otabek pointedly. It was a look that dared anyone to fuck with him, and Otabek knew who he had to be before he even said, “I’m Phichit. I’m Yuuri’s roommate.” And he _did_ look familiar, now that Otabek knew who Yuuri was talking about. Otabek had never paid too much attention to the stands or the cheerleaders at his events, but Phichit was more enthusiastic than most would be at the minor sporting events. 

When he pulled Yuuri away from Otabek, there was a moment of resistance - a moment Otabek didn’t help with, too afraid he’d accidentally hurt Yuuri to try to pry him loose - and then Yuuri finally noticed _who_ was tugging on his arms and let go, switching his octopus grip to Phichit as Otabek stumbled back.

Phichit only laughed at Yuuri’s drunken enthusiasm. “He seems to be feeling pretty good right now, so you know he’ll regret this in the morning.”

Otabek knew he was probably only talking about hangovers, but- “He was up on the pole,” he said, gesturing at the offending furniture. “I was going to try to get him down when he spotted me.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Phichit said, shaking his head fondly as he rubbed soothing circles on Yuuri’s bare back. “You’re Altin, right? The gymnast?”

“Otabek.”

Phichit’s mouth twisted into a knowing smirk. “Oh yes, so I’ve heard.” Before Otabek could ask him to elaborate, he hitched Yuuri more securely against his side. “Thanks for the assist, Otabek. I’m going to find Stripping Beauty here his clothes and then get him home before he passes out.”

He began to half-carry, half-drag his roommate to the doorway, then stopped to wave back at Otabek over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you finally!”

Otabek raised his hand in acknowledgement as they disappeared into the next room. He stared down at the nearly full brown glass bottle in his other hand, then set the beer down on a nearby bookshelf. He’d had enough for one night.

-

When Otabek arrived at the first yoga class after the break, his eyes shot immediately to the front of the room. Yuuri’s usual spot was occupied by one of the blondes, tying her hair up into a tight ponytail as she chatted with another girl in a matching sweatshirt. He scanned the rest of the room. No Yuuri.

Well, that wasn’t surprising. He’d gotten drunk in public and lost control a little in front of a classmate. He was probably just embarrassed that he’d made such a scene at the party. Still, Otabek felt a twinge of concern. Hopefully it wouldn’t affect him too much, and Yuuri would be back in class soon. 

Otabek needn’t have worried, though. When he walked back into the studio a few days later, Yuuri was already there, warming up in his usual spot. His black hair hung shaggy and unkempt, falling in front of his glasses. When he caught Otabek’s eye in the mirror, he didn’t blush or look away, just nodded his hello and went back to his warm-ups.

The teacher moved to the front of the class, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Back to your mats, please, everyone,” she called out as she took her position up front. Otabek settled in, focusing on the instructor.

At least, that was what he’d intended to do. Against his will, his gaze kept slipping away from the teacher and over to Yuuri. Whatever had caused Yuuri to miss the last class, he’d clearly moved past it. Not only had he come back, but he was in better form than he’d been all semester. His balance was perfect as he moved without effort, flowing from one pose to the next and often opting for the more advanced versions that the teacher demonstrated. Maybe some of that hidden self-assurance he’d shown at the party was leaking into his daily life.

When crane pose was introduced, Yuuri easily levered himself onto his hands, lifting his lower body into the air, toes pointed like a ballerina. Otabek wasn’t focused on his feet, though, as Yuuri’s ass rose into the air.

Otabek lost his balance, dropping face-first into the mat. One of the girls beside him gasped. From the back of the room, someone else tittered. Face hot, he pushed back onto his heels, riding out the mortification as he waited for the next pose.

In the mirror, Yuuri was looking at him again - this time with concern. It was Otabek’s turn to quickly look away. Stupid Yuuri and his bendy body and his thighs and his _butt_. 

Somehow, Otabek made it through the rest of the lesson without breaking his nose, but it was a close call. The front of the room was far too distracting. Once they broke for the day, he took his time gathering his equipment, keeping his head down as Yuuri chatted with the instructor.

Most of the girls had already filtered out into the hallway when Yuuri shouldered his rolled mat and crossed the room, headed for the back door. As he walked by, Otabek cleared his throat. “Yuuri,” he said, then looked away as the sound from his mouth was more of a croak than a request.

“Hey,” Yuuri said, stopping. That familiar flush was back, though subdued, as he shifted on his feet. “If this is about the other night, Phichit told me what happened. I’m really sorry I-”

“No,” Otabek cut in. “No, don’t worry about that. I just… wanted to see if you drink coffee.”

“What student doesn’t?” Yuuri laughed quietly. “Why?”

“To see if you wanted to get coffee with me.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh.” Otabek watched as the spark of understanding lit in Yuuri’s eyes. His hands twisted in the hem of his shirt, but he was smiling. “Now?”

“I have practice now,” Otabek said. “But, if you’re free, you could come watch practice first.”

Yuuri licked his lips, then nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I mean, yes. I’d like that very much.”

Maybe Otabek would get something valuable out of this yoga class after all.


End file.
